“Couldn’t you do without a carpet? Why have recovered the armchairs? In my time there was a single armchair in a house, for elderly persons⁠—at any rate it was so at my mother’s, who was a good woman, I can tell you. Everybody can’t be rich! No fortune can hold out against waste! I should be ashamed to coddle myself as you do! And yet I am old. I need looking after. And there! there! fitting up gowns! fallals! What! silk for lining at two francs, when you can get jaconet for ten sous, or even for eight, that would do well enough!”

Emma, lying on a lounge, replied as quietly as possible⁠—“Ah! Madame, enough! enough!”

The other went on lecturing her, predicting they would end in the workhouse. But it was Bovary’s fault. Luckily he had promised to destroy that power of attorney.

“What?”

“Ah! he swore he would,” went on the good woman.